Bringing up children means knowing that sooner or later, they’ll be able to get on swimmingly, without you watching their every move. You seize the fleeting moments and cherish their journey towards independence, as the waves of time and change drift on
My daughter took to swimming the way she takes to everything – in her own good time. As a self-confessed people-pleaser, I am endlessly impressed with the way she ignores the expectations and needs of others, to calmly follow her own pleasure.
As with walking, talking and washing her hair, so it was with swimming. From the age of three, she spent most Saturday mornings in the pool with me. Long after the other mothers were able to sit on the sidelines playing Candy Crush on their phones, I was still in the pool, often feeling green from too much wine and not enough sleep the night before, singing ‘monkeys on the wall’ and fetching fish.
Then one swimming lesson, out of nowhere, she didn’t need me anymore. And that was it. I was out of the pool and on the side, fully clothed, phoning Ouma, who pays for her grandchildrens’ swimming lessons and had been wondering along with me at which point it was going to turn in to Nina actually swimming. “NOW.” I told her. “Today!”
Then, as the other mothers moved from the small pool to the big one and were able to swap the weekend-destroying Saturday morning lessons with mid-week ones, I was still there. Every Saturday.
The routine of Saturday mornings with the accompanying post-swim coffee for me and custard croissant for her became a parenting ritual. It was a time for us to check in with each other, colour in pictures and simply hang out.
And then one day, a day like any other as far as I could tell, she was ready to move into the big pool. No more brutal 7am Saturday wake up. No more mother and daughter ritual. It was just over. Like that.
The lesson moved to a Monday, and my mother took over the adult-helper role because my work life couldn’t stretch to meet a 2.30pm lesson. The ritual that was mine became my mom’s, and the two of them developed a friendship that only this kind of unhurried way of being together can produce. It was a sacred time.
And once again, it’s over. She has been promoted. New pool-mates and a new time slot. A time that brings the role of poolside companion back to me.
For the first time in two years, I sat on the side of the pool and watched my daughter swim last week.
At 10 and a half, she is in the golden age of childhood. Old enough to bake cupcakes on her own, but not so old that you worry she might be smoking cigarettes in the garage if you haven’t seen her for longer than 20 minutes. It’s a beautiful age to watch. All the independent physical control of adulthood without any of the hormones.
I watch her swimming with her too-long legs and big teeth. She waves at me from the pool. With a shock I realise I am crying, silent tears falling down my cheeks. I am so aware of this moment, the uncluttered, uncomplicated moment of being her welcome poolside companion. I am also aware of its transience.
Just like the move to the big pool, on a day, much like any other, this experience will be over.
She will have moved, at her pleasure, into next phase of her life. A period of defining herself, primarily as other than her parents, and I will be left working out who can do the lifts.
I can only hope that as with all the other phases, she does it in her own time, at her pleasure and that I have a few more swimming pool waves and custard croissants in my future.
Leave a Reply